


Unravelling the Lies

by kinky_fucker



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Creepy Petyr Baelish, Crying, F/M, Forced Marriage, Gaslighting, I'm Bad At Summaries, Jealous Petyr Baelish, Lies, Manipulative Petyr Baelish, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, POV Petyr Baelish, Past Petyr Baelish/Catelyn Tully Stark - Freeform, Peeping, Petyr Baelish is His Own Warning, Strangulation, The Eyrie (ASoIaF), Underage - Freeform, Underage Kissing, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27214033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinky_fucker/pseuds/kinky_fucker
Summary: Petyr has arrived back in the Eyrie with Sansa. Feelings become tangled and things escalate to a bloody conclusion...Happy Halloween!
Relationships: Lysa Tully Arryn/Petyr Baelish, Lysa Tully Arryn/Petyr Baelish/Catelyn Tully Stark, Petyr Baelish/Catelyn Tully Stark, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 19





	Unravelling the Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Whoop whoop, it's Halloween! 2020 is nearly over. Enjoy this bloody and creepy fic that fits the spooky season ^_^

It was a long trek up to the Eyrie and Sansa was scared by the climb on mule back. Petyr offered soothing words and acted as though one misstep wouldn’t send them plummeting to their deaths. When they finally reached the top, he offered his hand for her to grab as she leapt off the mule. Caught up in her fear, she didn’t realise how hard she was squeezing his hand or for how long she held it until they entered the throne room. Lysa, from her high perch in the weirwood throne, sent a glare their way and Sansa was quick to let go of his hand. It took a few deep breathes to school his expression but he sent a smile Lysa’s way as she made her way down to them.

Polite greetings were exchanged, and some not so polite comments were made about Tyrion Lannister. 

“Did that ill-made man force himself upon you?” Lysa asked sharply. Sansa went wide-eyed and Petyr swept in to save her.

“We need not discuss such a topic.” Before Lysa could say anything, he was dismissing Sansa who was quick to walk away. Lysa threw her arms around his shoulders, capturing his lips with a kiss. He was caught off guard and entirely reluctant to kiss her but did so with as much passion as he could muster. 

“Why did you have to bring her here?” She hissed upon breaking the kiss.

“Hush my love, we need not think of her,” he returned softly. 

“How right you are, husband of mine.”

“My love, we are not married yet. We have to inform all of the lords of the Vale about the ceremony-”

He was cuff off by Lysa’s impatient huff. “There’s only one lord of the Vale. The others can all hang. Lurking and simpering on the stairs like buzzards the moment my husband died. Trying to all get their claws in me.”

“I do think that we can wait until-”

She shook his shoulders this time as she spoke over the top of him. “I’m done waiting Petyr. We had our wedding night many years ago. Don’t you remember?”

“Like it was yesterday,” he said, fighting to keep the revolution out of his voice.

“What wife would do for you the things I’ve done for you? What wife would trust you the way I’ve trusted you? You gave me those drops and told me to pour them into Jon’s wine, my husband’s wine. And you told me to write a letter to Cat telling her it was the Lannisters-”

It was now his turn to cut her off, surging forward to kiss her in order to shut her up. His hand entangled with her hair whilst the other cupped her cheek. Soft noises spilt from her and he mentally cursed her out for being so blasé with the details of the plan. Did she not know that spies are everywhere, even here in the heart of honour.

“The deed is done,” he reminded her, drawing back from the kiss. “Faded into nothing. Only speaking of it can make it real.” She nodded and looked at him expectantly. “Tonight it is then,” he said, disgust creeping into his voice but her laughs of joy indicated she didn’t notice. She broke from his grip and crossed to the door. “Let me bathe and dress for the occasion. Once I’m presentable, I’ll call upon the Septon immediately,” he called after her, hoping to delay the inevitable.

She opened the door and there stood the Septon. His mask slipped slightly but she didn’t notice as she rolled her cloak up to reveal her shoulders. She walked arm in arm with the Septon, two Vale knights flanking them as they came back over to where he stood.

“I’m warning you, I’m going to scream when my husband makes love to me,” she said. The knights closed the door, sealing his fate as Lysa’s paws wandered over him as she came back to his side. He tried to step away but her hand slithered across his shoulders and pressed slightly into the back of his neck. “I’m going to scream so loud they’ll hear me clear across the Narrow Sea.” She then began to kiss his cheek and neck, hoping to work him up into the mood. He glanced at the Septon, wondering if there was any way to get out of this.

* * *

  
  


The ceremony was short and all too soon they were married and Lysa was dragging him to her chambers. She pushed him inside, shutting and locking the door before her hungry gaze turned to him. He worked quickly to make the room as dim as he could get away with, claiming to set the mood when she rose an eyebrow at him. She wasted no time in undressing and was soon back to kissing him, nimble fingers unlacing his breeches. He all but pushed her onto the bed, getting on top of her before she could complain. She was naked but her body was all wrong. While Petyr had never had the pleasure of seeing Cat naked, he had spied her changing a fair few times. Her body was very different then, still developing, but he remembered how she looked when she visited King’s Landing. How swollen her breasts had become after five pregnancies, how she was well fed but not in the way her sister was. No doubt Cat’s cunt was still as tight and warm as it had been the night he took her maidenhood. 

His wife was impatient and was quick to direct his head to where she wanted it. Having little choice but to service his wife with his tongue, Petyr got to work. He never got the pleasure of doing the same to Cat but he knew this tasted all wrong. Cat would no doubt taste sweeter, just like the lemon cakes she used to adore. 

He imagined Sansa would taste the same way. She did share her mother’s sweet tooth after all. And so many things besides.

He broke Lysa’s grip, hissing slightly as she pulled some hair from his head. He crammed his cock inside her and began to thrust. Her moans were loud, as wanton as any whore he had bedded, but her screams were worse. His thrusts turned aggressive and he began to hammer out all his frustration and anger. Her screams grew louder and more drawn out. The Dothraki may not be able to hear her but Sansa surely could. He cast a glance to his right and through all the many walls that separated her from him. He imagined her tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Perhaps she’d be annoyed. Maybe she’d be curious or even envious of the sexual prowess wasted on her aunt. Yes, he could see her now sitting up in bed, wearing a sheer nightgown, and pressing her ear to the wall to listen better. She was still young and had her maidenhead firmly intact but he was vastly experienced. Oh, the things he’d show her, teach her. Had she even discovered the wonderful place between her legs? How fun it is to have her hand down there? How even better it would be to have his hand down there? Maybe she was even doing such things now as she listened, squeezing her eyes shut to imagine herself in Lysa’s place.

His orgasm rocked him mid-thrust, Sansa’s name soundlessly lingering on his lips like a prayer as his seed flooded his new wife. She was panting from her screaming session and he shuddered, thoughts still on Sansa.

* * *

His thoughts would remain on Sansa going forward. He was able to resist the distraction but soon the hair kissed by fire began to haunt him. It started with glances as they sat down to eat their meals and the occasional ones as they passed each other in the corridors. The glances became longer until they were looks. Then stares as he drank her in. She was truly beautiful and continued to grow more each passing day. He noted her steadily developing body, the swell of her breasts as they grew, her face losing its childhood shape as she stepped into womanhood. 

When she bathed or changed, he was often there to catch the show. Unbeknownst to her, of course. His body was not as spry as it had been when he had watched Cat all those years ago but the method was second nature to him. Sansa was a vision to behold, her pale skin was flawless and her height accentuated her lovely legs. He hadn’t glimpsed her cunt but her bare breasts, her pink nipples stiffened by the cold air, and her oh so attractive backside more than made up for it.

Lysa, of course, had taken note of Petyr’s absence from her side as well as the glances he casts Sansa’s way. Thankfully she hadn’t caught him in any act he couldn’t talk his way out of but his silly wife needed some reassurance. 

“What has she got that I haven’t?” Lysa demanded out of the blue one day. He turned to her, confusion painted upon his mask.

“Who darling?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sansa Stark,” she snarled.

He glanced around to make sure they were alone before lowering his voice. “Not so loud, my love, you never know who could be listening.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at her,” she continued, not heeding his warning. “Your wife is right here! Or have you forgotten our wedding night already?”

“Forgotten? How could I ever forget?” The night was burned into his memory as any equally horrific time would be. The smile on his face gave the truth a more positive spin. “Ah, that’s what this is about. You are jealous of your niece. Oh, my silly wife, have you forgotten that I have married you? Out of all the women in the Seven Kingdoms, I chose you to stand by my side.” He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, checking her temperature. “Are you sick, my wife? Rest assured the maester will be able to cure whatever has caused this paranoia.”

She quickly dismissed this by grabbing him into a kiss. It was unbearably long but she pulled back to speak. “I am not sick, my husband.”

“Then these delusions will fade in time, yes?” He questioned and she quickly nodded. “Good.”

* * *

If Lysa noticed anything in the weeks following, she held her tongue, no doubt internalising his words. He smiled at this, the smile growing wider as he spotted Sansa in the courtyard. She looked in awe at the snow, so enchanted she didn’t hear his approach. She jumped as she turned and he was suddenly behind her. 

“Lord Baelish,” she greeted.

“Petyr,” he corrected.

“Petyr,” she echoed. His name sounded so sweet in her mouth and a coy smile crossed his features. 

“How are you finding the Eyrie?”

“It’s not home,” she admitted, casting her eyes down to the snow model of Winterfell she was making. 

He followed her gaze before looking back to her face. “I’m sorry, sweetling, Winterfell isn’t safe - not while the Boltons hold it.” His sight lingered on her slightly pursed lips that were just begging for a kiss. Her blue eyes looked back at him and he snapped up to maintain eye contact. 

“Why did you really kill Joffrey?” She asked.

He took a moment to consider the answer to this question, stepping forward to close the distance between the two of them. “Given the opportunity, what do we do to those who’ve hurt the ones we love? Joffrey had gone after your mother, your family, and you. Such actions have consequences.” A smile slowly crossed her features, causing a stirring within him. Her fiery locks flowed over her shoulders, coming to a stop where her breasts were. He reached out with his hands, cupping her soft cheeks, and brought her in for a kiss. 

_And oh what a kiss it was._

Her lips were soft and warm and sweet from the lingering taste of lemon cake. She melted into the kiss as did he. He kept it chaste, not wanting to overwhelm the girl with the new experience. This is what he’d been waiting for all his life. Cat was stolen from him by the Starks and then stolen for good by the Freys and Boltons and Lannisters. But Sansa, Sansa was still here. And in time she’d be his.

The kiss went on for so long and yet was cut so brief by her pulling away. Her expression was one of shock before her eyes darted up to the battlements. He looked just in time to see a cloak swishing as its owner stormed away.

_Lysa._

She was going to fuck everything up, the damned woman. He hurried off, regrettably leaving Sansa alone, but he had to find Lysa now. 

* * *

Indeed, he found her by the moon door, and before he could get a word out she had launched into a tirade. 

“You promised nothing was going on, that I, your wife, was having delusions. I saw you _kiss_ her, I saw you with your own eyes!”

“It’s not what it looks like-”

“My eyes do not deceive!”

“It’s all a misunderstanding-”

“Sansa will never love you, just as her mother never did.”

Petyr’s teeth grit into a snarl. “Cat never loved me? Never held a crumb of affection for me? Then why, on the night we all got drunk in Riverrun, did she sneak into my room and give me her maidenhead?”

Lysa begins to shake her head, a peal of laughter spilling from her. _“I_ entered your room that night. You were so drunk and it was so dark that you couldn’t tell who it was on top of you. You took my maidenhead. Cat never saw you in the way I did, you were beneath Edmure in her eyes, and now she’s gone. Dead like everybody else who stood in our way. Well, almost everybody.”

Something deep inside Petyr finally snapped and he lunged forward, hands wrapping tight around Lysa’s throat. Caught off guard, she stumbled and they nearly topple but she pushes off the stone pillar near the moon door and begins to fight. Her nails scratch his face, trying to claw his eyes out. He turns his head away, enduring the cuts on his cheeks as he squeezes harder. She starts to twirl and thrash, scratching and beating at his hands and arms, trying to break free. His fingers dig in tightly, and though he was resigned to staring at the ceiling as his head was tilted back, he could feel her windpipe be crushed beneath his hands. They span around, trying to knock the other off balance. He remembered the steps to a dance he practiced with Cat all those years ago when she was still interested in their kissing games and used it to control the pace. The spins and quick switches in direction wasted a lot of Lysa’s energy and soon she tired enough for Petyr to look down at her. They were back over by a stone pillar and he pinned her to it. Her body was limp now, her eyes rolling back in their sockets, and her lungs were nearly devoid of all air. A new surge of anger coursed through him and with a roar he bashed Lysa’s head against the pillar. He did this again and again and again. Blood spurted everywhere, staining him as well as the once pure white pillar. 

_For all the kisses, the sex, the wedding night, all those temper tantrums, the deception, screaming, lies, all of it!_

It was only once Lysa’s skull had been cracked and her blood and brain matter had splattered everywhere did he finally let go, allowing her lifeless body to collapse to the floor. He glared at her, allowing his disgust to shown. A scream drew his attention to the door. There stood Sansa, looking like a rabbit staring down a wolf, and the pair were frozen to the spot. He must have looked a sight, covered in blood - both his own from his open wounds as well as the blood from the bashed about body. She made the first move and that was to run to raise the alarm. He gave chase, the adrenaline still pounding through him. He was fast enough to catch up to her, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking. She was knocked to the floor and about to scream but he covered her mouth. His hands were bloody and it smeared all over her face and arm as she was dragged back into the throne room. He got the doors closed as best he could before pinning her to the wall out of sight should anyone pass in the corridor.

“I’m sorry, I won’t tell, just please don’t hurt me,” Sansa begged once her mouth was uncovered, tears already welling up in her eyes.

“Shh shh shh. I won’t hurt you, Sansa,” he cooed but this did little to calm her. “Here’s the plan, we get the moon door open, throw her out, get all the blood cleaned up, and tell everyone that Lysa went mad and jumped through the moon door. We tell them we tried to stop her, did everything we could to calm her down, but it was no use. Do you understand, Sansa?”

She nodded and the first tear fell. He kissed it away, the saltness of the tear mixing with the iron of the blood. More tears fell and she began to shake from her repressed sobs. He captures her lips, a small whine escaping her throat as her body freezes. Yes, once this is all swept under the rug, he’ll finally have his red headed beauty.

And what a sight she’d be beneath him on their wedding night.


End file.
